Honor Among Thieves
by silvrethorn
Summary: When Mugen loses a child's most cherished possession to a thief, how will he get it back when he literally can't read the clues? Fortunately, you don't have to be literate to be clever. Rated M for Mugen. Raunchy sex, violence, profanity. One shot.


Honor Among Thieves

by

Silvrethorn

"You again!" Oronagi, a habitual debtor, was used to having "following horses" on his tail, but this was ridiculous. He'd never had one follow him into a privy before.

"Yeah, me, and if you wanna stop seein' me, pay up." The young man with the sword slung over his back stuck out his hand and wiggled his fingers.

"I told you I don't have the money," said Oronagi. "Now get out of here." The following horse's eyes narrowed, and he suddenly pistoned his foot out, crashing his steel-soled geta into the lip of the wooden privy between Oronagi's fat thighs. The samurai squealed and drew his legs back.

"Pay up or I'll stuff you down that hole with the other turds. You got that?" the following horse snarled. Wide-eyed, Oronagi stuck a shaking hand inside his kimono and felt for his purse, hoping his few copper mon would be enough to get his tormentor off his back for a while. Most following horses were only petty nuisances, but this one was dangerous, and Oronagi wanted him gone whatever it took. The samurai's searching fingers touched a sheaf of paper and he paused, debating. It could work, but only if... He removed the papers, selected a few and held them out to the following horse.

"What the hell is that?" The following horse recoiled slightly.

"Payment. It's money."

"It's paper." The following horse's shoe grated ominously on the privy seat.

"These are banknotes. They're the same as coins. They're issued by the best banks in Osaka!" Oronagi held the notes out farther. The following horse eyed them but made no attempt to read the seals and writing. Oronagi's hopes soared. The following horse was illiterate; this might just work after all. "Haven't you ever seen banknotes before?" he asked, pressing his advantage. The slur of implied ignorance had the desired effect; the following horse removed his foot from the privy seat, snatched the notes out of Oronagi's hand and stuffed them into his pants.

"If these are bogus, you're gonna be one sorry mofo," he growled, and with a final, baleful look he turned and left. Oronagi let him get well out of earshot before he burst out laughing. What a joke. He'd just bought the following horse a beating or worse; he wished he could be there when he handed his employer that wad of worthless paper. Still chuckling, Oronagi finished his business in the privy and headed back into the noise and glitter of Osaka's Shinmachi pleasure quarter.

xxx

"Idiot! Moron!" Hosai accompanied each insult with a wild swipe of his cane, driving his following horse backward across the room. "Cash only! I don't take banknotes, and this is why! They're not even good forgeries. Didn't you look at them before you took them? What's your name again?"

"Mugen," the following horse said sullenly.

"You're fired, Mugen. Get out of here, and don't come back. And don't expect any payment for tonight, either!" Hosai shouted after Mugen's retreating back. Mugen slouched out the front door of the brothel and stood for a minute, eyeing the prostitutes gathered behind their streetside lattice like gaudy birds in a cage. One of them would have been his pay tonight if that fat fuck hadn't cheated him. He contemplated his bad luck for a moment, then spat in the dirt and walked away. Screw it, there were other comforts to be had in Shinmachi. The night was young, and Mugen had a little cash left over from the day--not much, but enough for food and sake and maybe...

He dug around inside his clothes and pulled out his stash of coins, which he spread out in his hand and prodded around on his palm. He was just figuring up his night's allowance of pleasure when a hard blow to his elbow sent his money flying, the coins hanging suspended in front of Mugen's startled face for an instant before a small, dirty hand shot out and scooped them out of the air. Mugen gave a roar of rage and grabbed at the thief's arm, but the thief ducked away, his ragged little figure darting nimbly through the crowd and into an alley. Mugen promptly gave chase, shouldering, elbowing and stomping feet indiscriminately as he went. He reached the alley just in time to see the thief bound onto the rooftop of a restaurant and scamper off over the roof tiles. Without a moment's hesitation Mugen followed, catapulting himself onto the roof with an athleticism born of sheer fury. A thin, startled face glanced back at him over the roof peak, and with another wild yell Mugen lunged toward it. The thief took to his heels; Mugen jumped right out of his shoes and sprinted after him.

The thief was obviously familiar with the rooftops. He skipped and dodged from roof to roof with ease while Mugen pounded grimly in his wake, slowed by his inability to see clearly in the dark and confused by the thief's erratic path. Eventually the thief skimmed up the side of a steeply-pitched warehouse roof and vanished over the crest, and Mugen, cursing and panting, scrambled to the ridgepole to find himself alone. For several long minutes he stood and glared across the rooftops, alert for any movement, but all remained still, and eventually he conceded defeat and started back down the slope.

He was halfway down when a spindly little figure strolled out onto the rooftop below--the thief again, and making no attempt to hide himself. If anything he was making himself conspicuous, strutting across the tiles like a shabby little rooster, casually scratching his stomach as he went. Mugen watched this performance for a minute, then feinted a charge down the roof toward the thief, who looked up and flashed a wide grin before he took off, leaving a streamer of gleeful laughter in his wake.

Mugen pulled up at the edge of the roof and watched the thief go. He knew the thief was young, but he'd assumed he was chasing a teenager. That laugh, however, was a child's laugh; the thief was only a boy. So what kind of a kid would lead an armed stranger, someone who could perfectly well kill him if he caught him, on a deliberate chase over the rooftops? And what's more, laugh about it, like a child playing an ordinary game of catch-me? The answer, of course, lay in any shiny surface that reflected Mugen's own face, and though he sent a threatening look after the thief's departing back his displeasure was leavened with a certain admiration.

But Mugen was still broke and hungry, and fellow-feeling for the little thief wasn't putting any food in Mugen's empty belly. He started off again at an easy trot. The thief had the advantage of familiar ground, but Mugen had longer legs and better stamina. The boy would tire first. Mugen would simply run him to ground, and when the boy stopped...

One minute Mugen was jogging along, pacing the thief; the next he was pedaling furiously in midair as loose roof tiles skated out from under his feet. He landed on the roof very hard, flat on his back; the back of his head smacked the tiles and colored lights blossomed inside his skull. Stunned and breathless, he closed his eyes and lay still.

Any criminal in his right mind would have taken this lucky break as an omen and fled. The little thief, however, did not. Unbelievably, through the buzzing in his head, Mugen heard the light shifting of roof tiles underfoot, and as he watched through his eyelashes the thief approached him, his expression shocked and a little frightened. His intentions were probably helpful, but Mugen didn't care. The kid still had Mugen's money, and when the thief came close enough Mugen lashed out with both feet and knocked the kid sprawling. The stolen coins fell out of the kid's clothes and cascaded over the edge of the roof, landing with a faint jingle in the street below. Something else hit the tiles and skidded right into Mugen's hands. Mugen grabbed it and heaved himself to his feet.

"Pity...is not...your friend, kid," he rasped, wincing at the line of pain across his shoulders where his sword scabbard lay. The thief didn't move, but his attention wasn't on Mugen. It was fixed on the thing Mugen held in his hand.

"Give it back!" the kid whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

"What? This?" Mugen shook the object--a little lacquer box with something inside that rattled--and watched the thief's reaction. The boy's face twisted, and for a second Mugen thought the kid was going to attack him.

"It's mine!" he shouted.

"Yeah? Well, you stole twenty mon from me, you little shit. Is this worth twenty mon? Maybe I'll just keep it." Mugen rattled the box again, and the boy sprang to his feet, exactly like a puppet whose strings had been jerked too hard. The sheer force of the rage radiating from the kid's body made Mugen step back warily.

"It's my dad's! He made it for me! Gimme it!" the kid bellowed, stretching out his hand. Mugen eyed the boy, taking in his matted hair, his starved body and the peculiar garment he wore, which Mugen now realized was a too-small kimono with its sleeves gone.

"How long's your dad been dead?" he asked in a less-belligerent voice. The boy stood silent for a moment, his eyes glittering in the faint light as they darted from Mugen's hand to his face and back again, his wild look slowly giving way to a tough, guarded expression..

"Three years," he said finally.

"My money's gone," Mugen said flatly. They could both hear people passing in the street below, and there was no chance the scattered coins had gone unnoticed. The boy kept his eyes on Mugen and said nothing. "If I give you this," Mugen held up the box, "how you gonna pay me back?" The boy wrapped his skinny arms around his body and considered.

"Whaddya need?" he asked. Mugen thought, turning the box in his fingers.

"You know a fat samurai mook named Oronagi?" he asked. Rather to his surprise, the boy nodded--but then, the kid had a bird's-eye view of pretty much everything that went on in the Shinmachi district. "You find him and follow him, and..." Mugen paused. Planning was not his long suit; he was used to working alone, not directing troops. He rubbed his chin and fiddled with one of his earrings, looking around him for inspiration. This place wouldn't be too hard to find again, not with that brightly-lit barge anchored just offshore and the only large tree on the waterfront arching overhead. "Meet me back here two hours after midnight," he said finally. "Tell me where I can find Oronagi, and you get this back." He held up the box and gave it a gentle shake. The boy's eyes fixed on the box for a moment, then went to Mugen's sword hilt. The sword seemed to fascinate him.

"You gonna fight Oronagi?" he asked.

"Maybe," said Mugen. The boy's eyes flicked back and forth between Mugen's face and the sword hilt, and his tough little face suddenly split into that mad, unlikely grin again.

"Cool!" he said, and with that he turned and skimmed away over the Shinmachi roofscape, swift and silent as an owl's shadow.

xxx

It was a long way back to the restaurant roof where Mugen had lost his shoes, and the walk gave Mugen time to think. There was still an outside chance of getting laid, but with his head pounding and his stomach howling for food his interest in women was on the wane. What he needed most was money, and he had two ways of getting it. The simplest but least appealing option was to ask for some. One of Mugen's two traveling companions, a ronin swordsman named Jin, had recently earned a small fortune picking mussels. Unfortunately, Jin had cut his hands and feet on the mussel shells trying to harvest them, and since the estuary he'd been grubbing in was essentially the city's sewer he was now marooned at a nearby inn, nursing a crop of infected wounds. Jin was normally a patient and philosophical soul, but pain and enforced idleness had not exactly improved his temper; the thought of returning to demand cash from either the stir-crazy and snappish Jin or the harried and cranky Fuu was more than Mugen could stomach. So work it was or go hungry, and Mugen dropped off the roof and set out once more that night to seek his fortune.

xxx

Opportunity abounded, as it turned out. The Shinmachi quarter was a restless place, and Mugen didn't get far before a brawl erupted from the doors of a brothel and engulfed the street, bringing traffic to a standstill. Mugen, never one to say no to a fight, put his head down and forced his way in.

The action was at the center of the mob, and Mugen gouged and shouldered until he reached a clear space in the crowd. Here a tall, sinewy, broad-shouldered man with lucky symbols tattooed on his chest stood alone, taking on all comers as they pelted out of the crowd and tried to subdue him. Two policemen already lay unconscious in the street beside several moaning brothel customers, and as Mugen arrived the brawler seized a third officer, snatched the forked jitte out of his hands and tossed him headlong into the veranda railing around the brothel. This was the kind of invitation Mugen couldn't resist; he launched himself into the clearing, sprang up, and struck out with his feet at the brawler's face. The brawler, however, was faster than his size promised. Far from being a lumbering ox, he whirled away from Mugen's kick and, as Mugen sailed past, crashed his long arms down on Mugen's back and shoulders, knocking him out of the air and smashing him face-down into the street. Mugen bounced right back up, spitting dirt, and was instantly sent flying into the surrounding forest of legs by a powerful kick to his haunch. Several of those legs kicked Mugen back into the clearing; Mugen shook his head to clear it and stood up again, but before he could charge a jerk on his kimono spun him completely around and sat him down with a spine-jarring crash.

That was it. Mugen's temper, always on the smolder, ignited. Head down, oblivious to the danger, he leaped up and hurled himself against his opponent, socking the top of his skull into the brawler's middle with all the force he could muster. It was like running his head into a thinly padded tree trunk; the brawler absorbed the blow with a grunt, and instead of falling he wrapped his arms around Mugen, pinning Mugen's neck with one arm and circling Mugen's shoulder blades with the other, pulling him into a rough embrace. Then he squeezed.

Mugen was wiry and strong, but he was no match for the sheer brawn of his opponent. He brought his knee up in a hammer-blow aimed at the brawler's crotch, but couldn't get his leg between his opponent's thighs. The brawler countered by heaving Mugen off his feet and holding him, wriggling and squirming, just off the ground, tightening his arms around Mugen's neck and body as he did so. Mugen heard--and felt--ominous popping in his spine, but worse was the pressure on his lungs. Gasping and struggling only worsened his situation, forcing air out of his body that his constricted ribcage couldn't draw back in. His blood roared in his ears, and for the second time that night lights bloomed behind his eyes. His kicks and blows lost their force; he was abruptly released, seized by the wrist and ankle and flung in a sweeping arc that ended in another collision with the hard-packed street. Mugen lay there for a moment, gasping like a landed fish, then took a great, whooping breath, rolled over, and vomited. And then, because no bald-headed, ape-chested mofo was going to get the better of him, he climbed back to his feet.

It wasn't his best performance; the ground tilted underfoot and he staggered drunkenly in a circle and fell down, provoking a chorus of cheers and jeers from the crowd. Someone grabbed him and set him back on his feet; Mugen reeled a little, then took off running, determined this time to bring his enemy down.

The brawler saw him coming and braced for another wild attack, but Mugen was not one to repeat his mistakes. He feinted low, then leaped into the air and unleashed a vicious side-kick that slammed the side of the brawler's head. The brawler roared and lashed out blindly, and again luck and a long reach favored him. He caught a handful of Mugen's pants leg and yanked, nearly skinning Mugen out of them and turning him upside-down in midair. Flailing helplessly, Mugen landed on the back of his neck on the brawler's feet, his pants still in the brawler's grip and only the swell of his backside keeping him from total exposure. Nothing daunted, Mugen lashed his feet upward, aiming for the brawler's chin. He managed only a glancing blow, but the brawler dropped him, allowing Mugen to snatch his pants back up and roll to his feet. Something fell out of Mugen's clothes as he rolled, a little lacquer box with something inside that rattled. The little thief's box. Mugen had forgotten about it, and he made a quick grab for it.

Pity, it turned out, was no more Mugen's friend than it was the thief's. His distraction gave the brawler the chance he needed, and he landed a mighty kick on the top of Mugen's head. Through the fireworks in his skull Mugen saw the brawler scoop up the box and shake it tauntingly in front of his nose. Mugen made a dazed grab at it, but as he did the watch-bell began to clang and the crowd--and the brawler with them--stampeded, streaming away in every direction as platoons of patrolmen descended on the mob, clubbing and pinning everyone they could reach. Mugen rolled away from the melee and lurched to his feet, but running after the brawler now was not only useless but dangerous. Mugen slumped against the railing and rubbed his head, and to his surprise he heard the patter of applause behind him.

"Bravo!" Mugen turned to see who was clapping and discovered a tall man in gaudy silk clothes leaning against the other side of the brothel railing. "You're a tough little game-cock, aren't you?" the man said, baring a set of crooked teeth.

"Who the hell are you?" Mugen asked rudely. He wasn't in the mood to be pleasant, and he didn't care who knew it.

"My name is Jiro. I'm the owner of this establishment." He waved his hand at the brothel behind him. "Not many people survive a round with Lucky. I'm most impressed. You wouldn't be, ahh, looking for work, would you?" Mugen, far from being flattered, bristled. It took a special kind of creep to make a compliment sound slimy, but this guy managed. As for the job... Mugen shot a look down the brawler's escape route. His instinct was to tell Jiro to go blow himself and spend the night tracking Lucky, but his body was too trashed. He needed to rest, and a sit-down job just filled the bill. Jiro smiled and glided away, and Mugen dusted himself off, followed him through the door and settled himself on a ratty cushion inside the entrance.

The man who sat here was obviously in charge of keeping loiterers away from the women; the post gave Mugen an excellent view of the prostitutes and the street beyond. The prostitutes had just as good a view of him, and they quickly made it clear that they didn't like what they saw. Obviously unaware that the new bouncer wasn't being paid in trade they met his gaze with a variety of sniffs, scowls and other discouraging gestures, with the exception of one plain, chubby girl who simpered and ducked her head every time Mugen's eyes passed over her. Not exactly the pick of the house; all the other girls came and went, but poor, homely Dumpling remained in the window, flirting hopelessly and ignored by the teeming clientele. Mugen didn't normally take an interest in unattractive women, but something--their shared outsider status, or maybe just the flaming orange kimono--stamped Dumpling on his mind, and when she was called out of the window by the madam and sent upstairs at long last, Mugen took notice.

Dumpling's client was an odd duck even by Mugen's standards, a hard-looking middle-aged samurai with a narrow lacquer box pushed through his sash beside his two swords. Yakuza tattoos in a complex feather pattern covered the samurai's chest and followed his arms to his very fingertips, and his long hair was tightly corded into a round braid like the thong of a whip. Everything about him said badass; his very aura tweaked Mugen's fighting instinct. He didn't seem Dumpling's type at all, and the affair grew even odder when he reappeared downstairs after only a few minutes, fully dressed and unruffled, collected his swords and left. Dumpling stayed put. Apparently she was awaiting another customer, and when he appeared Mugen's interest went from casual to fever pitch.

That customer was Lucky. His shining bald pate and towering build alone served to distinguish him, even aside from the tattoos. He, too, returned from the upper floor within a few minutes, looking damp around the sleeves but otherwise unchanged, and departed. It didn't seem like Dumpling's clients were having much fun tonight, and when the resident serving-girl came around with sake for the bouncers, Mugen commented on it. The girl smirked and shrugged.

"Well, I wouldn't like giving Dumpling a bath, myself, but if Lucky gets off on it that's his business," she said, and moved off again, leaving Mugen to ruminate. Dumpling, apparently, was the resident freak show, and Lucky was one of her clients. Paying to give a fat girl a bath--that was seriously bent, but it was also useful to know. If that was Lucky's perversion of choice, it made him easy to find; what Dumpling did with the badass samurai and his little lacquer box was better left unquestioned. With the problem of locating Lucky resolved, Mugen's mind reverted to the other blight on his happiness--facing the little thief later that night and telling him he'd lost the damn box.

Mugen's usual method of facing problems was not to face them at all. Skipping town might not actually solve anything, but it worked for Mugen, and there was nothing stopping him right now from just blowing off his meeting with the kid and leaving him to twist. Nothing, that is, but the memory of that mad, confident grin as the little thief kited away over the rooftops. Every once in a great while, something came along that struck too close to home for Mugen to ignore. The little thief was one of them, and however much he wanted to avoid it, and however much he might swear to himself about doing it, Mugen knew he would be on that rooftop at the second hour after midnight, and the boy would hear the truth.

xxx

"Gone!" The boy's shrill voice wavered and broke, echoing back from the rooftops around them like the cry of a wounded bird.

"I'll get it back." Mugen knew he sounded defensive and angry, but he couldn't help it. He was angry, at Lucky for stealing the box, at the kid for putting him in this stupid positon, but mostly at himself for screwing up so badly. "You know a guy called Lucky?" he asked.

"Everybody knows Lucky." The little thief lowered his voice, as if Lucky might hear him and pounce on him. In the light of Mugen's purloined lantern the boy's face looked drawn and somber, and that same light revealed the evidence of Mugen's own encounter with the man, a puffy left cheek and a half-closed eye, which had not gone unnoticed by the thief. "If he took it...you'll never get it back," the thief added in a whisper, and he burrowed his face into the arms folded on his knees. Mugen suspected he was crying, and although he was already squatting he settled even lower.

"What's Lucky do, anyway?" Mugen asked dully. Lucky didn't seem to belong to a gang or have a place of business; apparently he was a free-floating menace.

"People steal stuff for him, and he sells it," came the muffled reply from the boy's arms. If he was shedding any tears it didn't show in his voice, and Mugen felt another swell of grim admiration.

"You work for him?" asked Mugen. The top of the thief's filthy head bobbed an affirmative. "Who's his fence?"

"Huh?" The boy's head came up, his face puzzled.

"Who's Lucky sell the stuff to?"

"Oh." The thief ducked his head and rubbed his cheek briefly on his shoulder. "Guy called Sea Bird."

"Yeah? Where's he meet him?"

The boy shrugged. "Different places."

"Guess I'd better start looking, then." Mugen made a motion to stand up, but only succeeded in groaning loudly.

"You leaving?" The boy's eyes widened in surprise.

"Yeah" said Mugen. That was the idea, anyway, if he could get his battered body to cooperate.

"Don't you want to know where Oronagi is?"

"Huh?" It was Mugen's turn to look puzzled. He'd completely forgotten about the fat samurai. "Ah, forget it." The little thief eyed him for a moment, then half-shrugged and pointed over the roof gable.

"He's right there." Following the line of the boy's finger led Mugen's eyes to the glittering barge-houseboat in the harbor below. "Sea Bird runs games there sometimes." He dropped his arm and watched Mugen make another unsuccessful attempt to rise. "If you don't mind being up high, this is a pretty good place to sleep," he added. "Birds don't roost in this tree."

"Thanks." Mugen gave up his struggle and sat down. The boy stood and fiddled with the frayed edge of his kimono for a minute, then turned to go.

"Hey!" said Mugen. The thief stopped and looked back. "You got a name?"

"Kino."

"Mugen," said Mugen. Kino absorbed this in silence, then turned and faded into the night. "I'm gonna get your box back," Mugen shouted after him, but Kino was gone. Mugen sat for a moment, then lay back on the tiles, watching banners of cloud stream across the stars. He meant what he said. He might not be bound to the Bushido code like his samurai companion, but he had his own crude code of honor, and he held himself to it. He'd get that box back if he had to kill every piece of yakuza scum in Osaka and tear down the entire Shinmachi pleasure district with his bare hands. They'd never get the better of him. He'd find them. He... Mugen yawned and rubbed his eyes, fighting to keep his brain awake and scheming, but it was hopeless. The tiles were warm, the slow march of the clouds hypnotic, and Mugen's body and mind were both exhausted. Within moments his eyelids closed, his knees dropped apart and he began to snore.

xxx

Mugen woke to birdsong overhead and the rumble of commerce below, with the burned-out remains of the paper lantern beside him, every muscle in his body singing with pain, and no more idea of how to get Kino's box back than he'd had last night. The sky between the branches was a sheet of silver-gray; the muggy heat promised rain.

The Shinmachi district was nowhere Mugen wanted to be by the light of a drizzly day, so he climbed down the tree and set off up the waterfront toward Osaka, spending his night's wages at every food stand and sake vendor's he encountered along the way. Eventually he ended up, sated but broke, sheltering with a gaggle of other idlers under the roof of a shed that housed a printing press. The printing was mildly interesting to watch, and it gave Mugen something to do as he stormily mulled over his situation with Lucky and the stolen box and the mysterious floating rendezvous between Lucky and his fence. Which one of them had the box now? And how did they arrange their meetings? There must be a system...

"Hey! Get your hands off that!" Somebody shoved Mugen in the chest. Mugen brought his hand up to retaliate and discovered that one of the fresh broadsheets was stuck fast to his damp palm. The person who'd shoved him--one of the printers--snatched the paper away and propelled Mugen into the street, glaring. Mugen glared back, but he wasn't in the mood to fight. He sauntered off, examining the inky characters on his right hand as they smeared and ran in the rain. Mugen washed the rest of the ink off in a pool of rainwater, watched disapprovingly by a fat woman in a loud kimono. She reminded him of Dumpling--poor, homely Dumpling that nobody wanted. Only but those two, Lucky and the samurai all covered with feather tattoos. And Lucky paying to give Dumpling a bath. What kind of person...

Bath.

Ink.

Feathers.

Tattoos like a bird. The samurai first, with his long, narrow box, and then...

Mugen examined his hand again, with faint traces of the transferred writing still visible on the skin, and inspiration struck. To hell with wasting the night tailing Lucky--he knew how to find him, and his fence, too. All he needed was someone who could read, someone he could trust...

The Shinmachi district drowsed in the daylight, but it would wake soon. Mugen found himself a dry spot and settled in to wait for nightfall.

xxx

Mugen's return to Jiro's brothel that night had nothing to do with work, and he didn't approach it from the ground. Taking a page from Kino's book he came over the rooftops, stationing himself on the roof opposite and watching the girls come and go in the display window. Just like last night Dumpling sat neglected, and Mugen was losing his battle with boredom when the tattooed samurai passed beneath his perch and entered the brothel. Mugen snapped out of his doze and watched intently. Sure enough, Dumpling left the window, and Mugen quickly jumped the street, padded over the brothel roof and lowered himself silently onto the second-floor balcony railing. He was debating whether to poke holes in the paper panes--a popular option, judging from the patches everywhere--or risk opening the sliding doors when the problem of finding Dumpling was solved for him. A bulky shadow loomed behind the paper and a door opened, revealing the muscular figure and cold eyes of the tattooed samurai. He had Dumpling by the arm, and he pushed her into a squat in the doorway and dragged a floor lantern over to where she sat. Mugen flattened himself against the wall.

"You move like you did last time and I'll twist your head off," the samurai growled. Mugen edged around so he could just see them. The samurai opened his long lacquer box, removed a writing brush and ink stone, and quickly made up some ink. Dumpling shrugged off her robe, baring her back and exposing the most enormous set of hooters Mugen had ever laid eyes on. He spent several minutes transfixed by this sight, and by the time the blood returned to his brain the samurai had packed up his inkstone and brush, and Dumpling's ample, white back was marked with fresh writing. "You know what to do," said the samurai, and pushing the box into his sash he left.

Dumpling remained in the doorway for a little while, letting the fresh air dry the ink, then hitched the front of her robe over her massive breasts and went back inside, where she sat down on her futon and picked listlessly at the bedding. How long before her next customer came--the one who would read those words and wash them away? Probably not long. Mugen would have to act quickly, but speed had never been a problem for him. Fixing on a wolfish grin, he left the protection of the shadows and strolled boldy into Dumpling's bedchamber.

"Hey, doll," he said loudly. Dumpling gasped and turned around, saucer-eyed. "Like the tattoo. What's it say?"

"I...I dunno. What are you doing here?" she asked.

"It's my payday, babe." He moved closer, the better to overwhelm Dumpling with his manly charm. She blushed and fidgeted with the front of her robe.

"I can't. I'm engaged," she said, with genuine regret. Unlike her coworkers, she fancied Mugen. She admired his brash cockiness, she didn't mind his brown skin and she found his gray eyes pleasingly exotic. "You'll have to take one of the other girls."

"I don't want the other girls. I want you," said Mugen, switching on his sincerest leer. Dumpling fluttered but didn't surrender. "I'll make it quick. They'll never know."

"Could we, maybe...later?" she whispered.

"Aw, don't make me wait." Mugen dropped to his knees on her futon. He wouldn't have thought it possible with a plain girl like Dumpling, but he was ready to go. Just the thought of getting his hands on those bazoombas... He pulled off his short kimono and wriggled out of his jerkin, then plunged his hands under Dumpling's robe and ran them up her thighs.

"I...I can't," she said feebly, but it was too late. Mugen shucked his pants over his hips, kicked them down his skinny legs, and launched himself onto Dumpling. She went over backwards with a squeak of protest as Mugen buried his face between her mountainous breasts, pinning her tightly to the futon and praying her top half wouldn't squirm while her bottom half was being energetically humped. He kept himself pressed tightly against her, belly to belly, and when they began to slide over each other on a film of sweat he suddenly pulled back, rolled her over on her belly, and smashed himself down on her back.

"What...? Get off me! I don't offer that service!" Dumpling wallowed under him, pushing at his ribs, but Mugen held on tight, pressing harder, harder. His overstimulated body suddenly popped its safety valve, and Dumpling kicked. "Did you just...? Ewww!" she wailed. Mugen quickly peeled himself off Dumpling, rolling back so he wouldn't smear anything, and looked down at his belly. It wasn't a perfect transfer, but it looked readable. He yanked his pants up, grabbed his other garments and, leaving Dumpling in total disarray, launched himself over the balcony railing and vanished into the crowd of pleasure-seekers below.

xxx

Mugen arrived at the inn in total darkness. Fuu lay face-down on her futon across the room, sound asleep. Jin was sitting upright against the wall in a pool of lantern-light, a book lying open in his lap, but his chin was on his chest and his glasses had slipped to the end of his nose, a good indication that he, too, was sleeping. Mugen watched him for a moment, and when the samurai didn't wake Mugen reached out and rapped him sharply on the head with his knuckles. Jin gave a violent start and made simultaneous grabs for his glasses and his sword, then saw who it was and relaxed.

"Read this," Mugen barked, pointing to his stomach. Jin shook off his shock and blinked at the smear of ink on Mugen's belly.

"Read what?" he asked. Mugen dropped to his knees beside the lantern. Jin leaned forward.

"This is reversed," Jin said after a moment's study. "Where...?"

"Just read it!"

"This is the hour of the rat," said Jin, pointing at Mugen's liver. "This I can't read--could be 'house'--and this..." He trailed off and remained silent for so long that Mugen had to fight the urge to grab him and shake him. "Boat," he finally said. "Something boat at the hour of the rat. What is this about? Where did this come from?"

Mugen ignored him. Boat, house, boat...

"Houseboat!" Mugen said. "They're using that bigass barge in the harbor." He jumped up. Jin, to Mugen's surprise, also rose, swords in hand.

"Where the hell d'you think you're going?" Mugen asked rudely. "You can't even walk."

"It isn't far to the docks." Jin put his swords in his sash.

"This thing ain't at the docks. It's out in the harbor."

"Then you'll need to hire a boat, unless you were planning to swim. How much money do you have?" Mugen screwed up his face and said nothing. "That's what I thought." Jin padded to the door, walking carefully but firmly on his bandaged feet, and Mugen felt a powerful urge to boot his companion into the hall. His life had been just fine without a waitress and a samurai tacked onto it. This was none of Jin's affair, anyway. He needed Jin like he needed a heat rash.

But it was good to have him back, all the same.

xxx

Lucky was a large man who made large assumptions, the largest being that he was, in fact, lucky. It was an assumption that made him careless. He disdained both weapons and bodyguards, confident in his own luck and strength. and he saw no reason to change his plans when he found Dumpling smeared and disheveled that evening; if she wanted to sneak freebies with the hired help that was Jiro's concern, not his. He said nothing to his partner about the breach, either, and he was as startled as Sea Bird when Jiro's one-time bouncer leaped onto the deck, wild-eyed and bare-chested, followed by a lanky, bespectacled samurai who walked like his feet hurt.

"Hey," said Mugen, grinning. Lucky and Sea Bird stared at him, dumbstruck, and Sea Bird's bodyguards drew their swords and closed ranks. Mugen swaggered across the deck and into the gambling hall, ignoring them. "Cough up the red lacquer box. The rightful owner wants it back."

"Who the hell are you?" asked Lucky, rising to his feet. Sea Bird, the tattooed samurai from Jiro's brothel, remained seated, his eyes moving from the ink traces on Mugen's stomach to Jin before coming to rest coldly on Lucky.

"I'm trouble, pal," said Mugen, sticking his hand out. "Give."

Lucky crossed his arms and looked Mugen up and down. "What, you gonna fight us for that box, little man?" he asked.

"You bein' a monster don't make me small," said Mugen, tensing. His eyes moved from Lucky to Sea Bird to the bodyguards as he waited for somebody to make a move; Lucky also looked expectantly at Sea Bird, but to Mugen's disappointment Sea Bird raised his hand, motioning his bodyguards back.

"Put your swords away," he said. "This isn't our fight." This apparently was news to Lucky; his eyes widened, then narrowed in an expression that didn't bode well for Sea Bird. Ignoring him, Sea Bird stood up, brushed off his clothes and retreated to the edge of the room. Lucky dismissed him with a snort and turned on Mugen.

"You've got a death wish, punk," he snarled, pushing up his sleeves.

"Wanna test that theory, Baldy?" Mugen crouched and crooked his fingers invitingly. Behind him, Jin shuffled over to the side of the room and joined Sea Bird against the wall. Lucky flexed his muscles, waiting for Mugen to charge him, but Mugen stood his ground. After a long minute of nobody moving, Mugen straightened up and cocked his head.

"What?" he said. "Sword scarin' ya, big guy?" Mugen drew his sword and held it for a moment, then stabbed it point-first into the tabletop. He pulled the scabbard off and threw it down next to the sword; then, as an afterthought, he shrugged off his kimono and tossed it over the scabbard. "Unarmed enough for you?" he asked.

"You..." This was too much for Lucky. He charged, throwing himself forward to grab at Mugen's waist. Mugen took several running steps backward and launched himself into the air, snapping his knees up to his chin, then driving his feet down onto Lucky's shoulders as Lucky lunged beneath him. Lucky stumbled and crashed to his knees, but still managed to dislodge Mugen with a powerful sweep of his arm, keeping his opponent from riding him to the floor. Mugen sprang aside and backed out of Lucky's reach as Lucky surged to his feet and turned, eyes burning, fists clenched.

"Want some more?" Mugen crouched and beckoned again, eyes glittering. Lucky gave a bullish roar and made another charge, long arms outspread. Mugen immediately dropped onto his hands and lashed out in a spinning kick, making contact with something that sprang away when he hit it; when Mugen looked up he saw Lucky grab his left hand and, with a grimace, forcibly straighten several broken fingers. Mugen stood up and folded his arms.

"Had enough, or you wanna beat me up some more?" he asked. Lucky glowered at him, cradling his injured hand. He remembered this guy now, with his fancy kicks and spins; he'd had no trouble whipping him last night, but tonight the punk wasn't playing Lucky's game. No matter; he wasn't watching his back, either, and the samurai he'd brought with him either didn't notice or didn't care that his companion was backing himself into a corner. Lucky moved forward, arms out, ready to grapple. Mugen kept the distance between them, backing closer...closer...

"Yahhh!" Lucky made his move, grabbing wildly, but his fingers skidded over Mugen's bare shoulder and closed on thin air as Mugen ran straight up the wall and launched himself off the back of Lucky's head, slamming the brawler's face into the planks. Lucky reeled back, dazed, and lumbered around to face Mugen, his injured hand cupped over his bleeding nose and lip, his good hand opening and clenching in frustrated fury.

"Why don't you just die, you goddamn monkey," Lucky spat, mopping his split lip with his sleeve. Mugen eyed him insolently, taking in Lucky's heaving chest and the sweat beading his bald dome and dripping from his chin.

"Why don't you just make me, you fucking ape." Mugen rolled his shoulders and popped a crick in his neck. Lucky's burning gaze raked Mugen, then fastened on Sea Bird and his bodyguards. Sea Bird met his eyes impassively; if Lucky was appealing to his partner for help he got none, and after a moment Lucky's lip curled, baring his blood-smeared teeth. Completely without warning he launched himself off the wall and aimed a hammer-blow at the side of Mugen's head. Mugen ducked this easily, but when he stood up he saw that the punch was only a distraction. In the time-crawl that came with an adrenaline surge Mugen saw Lucky snatch the sword out of the tabletop; in the same instant Jin made a grab for his own sword, his eyes fixed on Lucky, but his bandaged fingers slipped off the hilt and his hand came away from his waist empty. He tried again, but his fumble gave Lucky time to aim a huge, brush-chopping blow at Mugen's body. Mugen literally fell over backwards, but the slash, like the punch, was a feint. Ignoring both Mugen and Jin, Lucky charged at Sea Bird, holding the sword straight out in front of him like a skewer.

Jin now had his sword drawn, but Sea Bird didn't need his help. Yakuza tattoos and all, Sea Bird was still a samurai, and a skilled one. He drew his sword and dropped to one knee as Lucky charged; Mugen's sword skimmed over Sea Bird's head as Lucky drove it forward, but Sea Bird's weapon found its mark, its tip erupting between Lucky's shoulder blades as Lucky's unstoppable momentum drove his body onto the blade. Lucky immediately began to sag; his knees buckled, his head fell back, and Mugen's sword clattered to the floor as blood gushed from Lucky's nose and mouth. Sea Bird watched his partner's death throes with a kind of thoughtful detachment, and as Lucky's body collapsed he stood up, put his foot on Lucky's chest, kicked the corpse off his sword, wiped the blade and re-sheathed it.

"Not quite the way I wanted to end our association," he said quietly, "but no matter. Lucky was a bully and a fool, and he was becoming a liability." For a moment nobody said anything, but then the corners of Jin's mouth curled in a thin, humorless smile.

"Honor among thieves," he said, sheathing his own sword.

"Indeed." Sea Bird looked Jin up and down in his calculating way, then turned to Mugen, reached inside his own kimono and pulled out the little red lacquer box.

"If you're going to fight someone," he said, "you might want to make sure you're fighting the right person." Mugen scowled. Damn it all. Lucky had been hard enough; now he had to take the samurai and his bodyguards too, with Jin off his game and Mugen's own sword on the floor behind his opponents. Sea Bird watched Mugen's mental scrambling with an amused glint in his eyes.

"I really should give this back," he said slowly, turning the box in his fingers. "It's the least I could do, since I'm the one who killed the boy's father." He watched the effect this produced on Mugen, then laughed. "Oh, I'll probably go the same way myself someday." He held the box up between his thumb and forefinger and admired it for a moment. "But I'm in no hurry." He flipped the box lightly to Mugen, who weighed it in his hand and shook it.

"Where's the thing that goes inside?" he asked.

"What thing?" Sea Bird asked blandly.

"You know what I mean," Mugen growled.

"What, this?" Sea Bird made a quick gesture, and both Mugen and Jin blinked. A butterfly had appeared in Sea Bird's hand--not a living insect but a bronze butterfly that flashed in the lantern-light. It was a tsuba--a sword guard--and unmistakably the work of a master, flawlessly balanced and proportioned, with symbols for luck, protection and long life wrought into the intricate scrollwork of its wings. Mugen made a grab for it, but just as quickly as it had appeared, it vanished up Sea Bird's sleeve.

"Son of a..." Mugen's scowl deepened.

"What's your interest in it, anyway?" asked Sea Bird, tucking his hands into his sleeves. "Don't tell me little Kino can suddenly afford to hire enforcers. I know better. Hirotomi was the finest swordsmith in Osaka, but he gambled away every mon he ever made, and what he didn't gamble he drank. His son has nothing." Mugen spent a minute searching for an explanation that wouldn't make him look stupid, but eventually, unable to scrounge up any plausible-sounding lies, he told the truth.

"I took the kid's box for collateral and lost it. I told him I'd get it back. So give." Mugen stuck his hand out again.

"A mission of honor and mercy. How touching." Sea Bird's arms remained crossed.

"You're not going to give the tsuba back, are you." Jin said flatly. Sea Bird gave him a mildly surprised look, as if one of the support pillars had suddenly spoken.

"Make me the right offer and anything's possible," said Sea Bird. "You asked for the box, you have the box. The tsuba isn't part of the deal." Sea Bird smiled, and behind him the two bodyguards drew their swords. Jin iced over. There was no other way to describe it; everything about him went cold and hard. For a moment he just stood there; then he grabbed the end of the bandage on his right hand, yanked it free, and began unwinding it. Sea Bird's smile sagged at the corners, and Mugen put his hand down and backed away. This was going to be good.

"I know what that symbol means," Jin said in a quiet and perfectly deadly voice, "and how dare you..." he jerked the bandage off, dropped it on the floor and flexed his fingers, "...put a price..." he drew his sword, "...on a father's love for his child."

"You're going to fight me?" Sea Bird asked.

"No." Jin's voice was as wintry as his eyes. "I'm going to kill you."

Sea Bird said nothing, the hard lines of his face setting even harder. He slowly motioned his bodyguards back again, and for several long moments he and Jin faced each other in silence. Then Sea Bird made his move. His arm jerked and something flashed in the air. Jin's sword met it with a ringing sound, and suddenly Kino's tsuba was dangling from the tip of Jin's katana, speared through the slot in its center. Jin quietly raised his sword; the tsuba slipped down its blade and came to rest on top of his sword's own guard with a clang. Sea Bird remained still, hands raised, watching Jin's reaction. Jin continued to bore into Sea Bird with that icy glare, but when Sea Bird refused to draw Jin stepped back and sheathed his sword, the second tsuba still stacked on his own, and turned on his heel.

"You mind?" Mugen pointed at his sword, still lying on the floor behind Sea Bird. One of the bodyguards picked it up and handed it to him; Mugen scooped up his other belongings and followed Jin toward the deck. They were nearly out the door when Sea Bird spoke.

"I had a child once," he said. Jin and Mugen paused. "Anything else you tried to take from me, you would have paid for with blood. That tsuba I'm willing to concede. But remember!" Jin, who had started forward again, stopped. "Sneer if you like, but honor among thieves is still honor. You didn't defeat me. If I see that tsuba in any hands but Kino's, I'll kill you both. Understood?"

"Got it," said Mugen carelessly. Jin said nothing, and he remained silent until their rented boat was back at its moorings. Only then did he draw his sword--their boatman shot him a nervous glance--and remove Kino's tsuba from the blade.

"So what's the deal with that thing, anyway?" asked Mugen, flicking a finger at the tsuba gleaming in the light of the mooring lanterns. "What'd you mean back there about putting a price on love?"

"The butterfly is the father's soul," Jin said shortly. "The blade is the child. That should be explanation enough." He laid the tsuba in Mugen's hand. "The swordsmith across the street fom the inn has no apprentice. If the boy is willing, I could speak to him. I'm going back to the inn now. I'm tired." In the pale lantern light he looked it, and Mugen realized with a shock that, had the confrontation with Sea Bird actually come to blows, Jin could well have lost. Jin must have known it, too, yet something--deeper than honor, deeper than the Bushido code--had made him take the chance. Mugen looked again at the tsuba in his hand--the strange marriage of butterfly and blade--and suddenly understood.

"Hey!" Jin, who was nearly out of sight down the street, hesitated. "Thanks," called Mugen. Jin took another step, and his dark clothes melted into the shadows, but his voice drifted back, calm and unemotional as ever:

"Any time."

xxx

There had been no agreement made between Mugen and Kino to meet at the warehouse that night, but Mugen was counting on Kino's sharp eyes, and he was not disappointed. A small, shaggy head appeared over the end of the roof the moment Mugen stopped in the street below, and a moment later a small shape monkeyed down the tree and landed on the ground beside him. Mugen held up the box and rattled it, then laid it in the boy's hand.

"Take care of this thing from now on, willya," Mugen growled. Kino clutched the box against his bony chest and stared up at Mugen.

"Didja fight Lucky for it?" he asked in an awed whisper. Mugen, who had never been an object of adulation before, shifted uneasily.

"Yeah," he said, "but I'm not the guy you need to thank for getting that tsuba back. And Lucky's dead, by the way, but don't thank me for that, either. He shoulda known not to screw with Sea Bird." Mugen turned to go, then remembered something. "What are you gonna do with that tsuba, anyway?" he asked.

"Someday I'm gonna make a sword. It'll be the best sword in the world." Kino's face screwed itself into an expression of fierce sincerity. "It'll be just like the ones my dad made."

"You gotta learn how to make 'em, first," said Mugen. "You have to be an apprentice." Kino's face fell.

"I'll find somebody," he said stoutly. "I just haven't really looked yet."

"Friend of mine knows somebody. You want him to talk to 'im?" asked Mugen.

Kino shrugged. "Sure," he said, and just like that, Mugen realized, one boy's life had been picked up, shaken off, and turned completely around—by Mugen's own violent, careless hands. It was a strange feeling, and Mugen didn't like it. Responsibility was a bitch.

"Hey, see you around, kid," he said abruptly, and started walking.

"Where you goin'?" Kino's shrill voice made Mugen turn his head, but he didn't stop. "Can I come?"

"Nah, I got some unfinished business," said Mugen over his shoulder. Or, at least, not finished to his satisfaction. This had been the night from Hell, and he intended to wrest some satisfaction from it whatever the cost. "It's nothin' you need to mess with. G'wan home." Wherever and whatever home might be, Mugen added to himself. Kino's face fell, and after a moment he turned and climbed back up the tree. Mugen spent about twenty seconds feeling like a heel, then shrugged it off and picked up his pace, down the waterfront and back toward the Shinmachi quarter.

xxx

It never occurred to Mugen that he wouldn't find Dumpling alone. With Lucky dead and Sea Bird probably still busy disposing of his colleague's corpse the competition was all accounted for, and Mugen dropped onto the brothel balcony for the second time with high hopes. Her chamber door was unlatched, and Mugen pulled it open, stuck his head inside, and called "Hey, doll!"

"Who's there!" The voice was masculine, and Mugen froze. In the dim light of a single candle Dumpling's sleepy moon-face blinked at him from the bed, and beside her...

"You again!" Mugen and the customer chorused. Mugen reached back and swept his sword out of its scabbard. Oronagi shrieked and fell off the futon, scootching his fat buttocks across the tatami matting in a frantic attempt to escape. Dumpling lunged off the bed, pendulous breasts bobbing and swaying, snatched up a pot of powder and threw it at Mugen. Either she had a deadly-accurate arm or she just got lucky; the pot hit Mugen right between the eyes and exploded, blinding and choking him in a cloud of rice powder. She also added her own blood-curdling screams to Oronagi's, and Mugen immediately picked up the sound of pounding footsteps on the stairs. With a loud oath he sheathed his sword, groped his way to the balcony and jumped. Oronagi and Dumpling. Figured they'd find each other. Oronagi was Mugen's curse, his own personal bad-luck charm. What else could possibly go wrong?

Thunder boomed. A curtain of rain hissed behind Mugen, then enveloped him as he ran, sticking his already damp kimono to his bare back and turning the powder on his skin and hair to paste. Mugen clawed angrily at the mess caking his features and shook rainwater out of his ears.

"God, I hate this place," he snarled, and pulling his kimono tighter around his bruised ribs he shook the mud of the Shinmachi pleasure quarter off his shoes and headed for home.


End file.
